


Is Kind

by Ruby_Wednesday



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 10:46:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6151093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruby_Wednesday/pseuds/Ruby_Wednesday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You misunderstand me. I relish my lack of kindness. It's a winning trait.”</p><p>“It can be both,” Damen said. “You're the king of duplicity. I don't need to spell it out.”</p><p>“Actually, I'm the King of Vere and Acquitart.”</p><p>“Not until your coronation, Laurent. For now, I outrank you. Sweetheart.”</p><p> </p><p>Post Kings Rising. Laurent gives away Fortaine. He and Damen have a discussion about kindness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is Kind

Of all the things Damen had endured, he didn't know why it bothered him so much that Kastor had ensconced the former regent and his entourage of traitor Veretians in Damen's old apartments. It made sense, logically. They were the second best quarters in the palace. They were empty at the time. But it rankled that that awful man had slept in the rooms where Damen had rested, where Damen had been simply happy, and then utterly horrified.

He could not allow himself to think that little boy who'd only wanted to go riding had been there.

He had also decided not to tell Laurent, then found it was not necessary because as soon as they were stripped of Kastor's belongings (which Laurent had declared tacky) Damen found himself in the King's rooms. They had been his father's rooms though nothing of the man remained but memory. Kastor had done that and Damen liked to think it was out of his brother's own guilt than an insult to their father's memory.

The King of Vere had now been given Damen's old rooms.

He did not spend any time in them. Normally. So Damen was surprised, when he sought Laurent out, to be directed to them. For a second, he considered turning back. Laurent had...moods. Sometimes Laurent needed to cloister himself away. Damen respected that, expect when he thought it was time to coax him back.

But there was no point in turning back. His arrival in his old quarters sparked a frenzy of bows and apologies (Damen was resigned to the fact that he and Laurent would spent the rest of their lives receiving apologies) and, at the end of the hall, a couple of men simply running away. Fools. If they really thought the new King of Akielos was going to kill them they should have run right off the cliff.

“There you are,” Laurent said, pleasantly. “I require your strength for my next appointment.”

“Need me to rip something out of the wall again?”

“Not quite.” Laurent fell into step beside Damen. “Lady Loyse is expecting me.”

“Chaperones don't need to be strong,” Damen said, remembering that among Veretians it was taboo to be alone with a member of the opposite sex. He was quite sure Loyse was past child-bearing age, though. “Are you going to tell me the nature of your appointment or should I start to worry?”

Laurent smiled in that way that was more about raising his cheeks and narrowing his eyes. “I am the one who should worry. It's been a few days since I've gained a new enemy. Time to make up for it.”

Damen couldn't follow. Then he couldn't ask because they were walking into Loyse's rooms. Kings did not knock or wait for announcements. It was only when Damen stepped though the threshold that he remembered Jokaste had used to sit here with her ladies.

Loyse bowed deeply to Laurent, and less deeply to Damen. He had to make himself wait for Laurent to tell her to rise.

“Forgive me, my king,” she said, shaking out her skirts. “I was not expecting anyone.”

“Why would you be? I did not tell you I was coming. Do sit,” Laurent said. Damen was only a little surprised when Laurent sat at the end of the same terracotta couch. “Loyse, I will state my business. It has two strands. Firstly, I wish to formally express my sympathy on your recent loss. Both Damianos and I were remiss in not doing so earlier.”

Damen cocked his head. Laurent spoke for him now? He did not contradict him.

“There is no need,” Loyse said. “Guion's death was --”

“No,” said Laurent. “You misunderstand. I meant your son, Aimeric.”

Loyse did not respond. Damen assumed, by the set of her jaw, that she was trying not to cry in front of her king. Laurent did not say anything more.

“I spent more time with him than L – than the king,” Damen offered. “I know these words do not offer comfort but he was a very impressive soldier, especially for one who had not trained before. He kept up with the other men by sheer determination. When they hit him, he got back up again.”

“Until he didn't,” Loyse said.

“Yes,” said Laurent. “He should not have been alone. I did not think – in fact, Damianos and I thought he was doing him a kindness by not putting him in the cells. That would have been below his station.”

“He was brat of a boy,” Loyse said. “I know I should remember him as sweet but I don't. He put dead frogs in his brothers' beds and stole my jewellery to get my attention.”

Laurent smiled at that. Well, his eyes smiled a little to Damen. “He was defiant right to the end.”

“Until he wasn't,” Loyse said again. Laurent's eyes grew dark. Damen remembered the cruelty at Ravenel, not the men, but the atrocities that spewed from Laurent's mouth. He broke Aimeric. He picked at the cracks the former regent had caused until the boy shattered. “Please, your highness,” she said. “You do not need to look like that. I blame myself.”

“You were not there,” said Laurent.

“I was in Fortaine, when my husband told me I should be honoured that a member of the royal family had taken an interest in our third son. It would bring him opportunity, Guion said, and Aimeric always wanted to get out and see the world. May I?” Loyse scooted close to Laurent. He allowed her to take his hands. A kindness, Damen thought. She would never see her son again. Mostly likely she never got to wash him and kiss his brow in after his death like a mother would. Aimeric and Laurent were about the same age. They were about the same size.

“I fooled myself,” she said. “I hate myself for it even though I didn't know what I was doing. I was like a hungry waif, as if one morsel of food would change my life. I told myself boys always change their sheets a lot at that age. I told myself it was normal for attachments to form. I lied and lied until I found the taste of lying sweet.”

Laurent bowed his head. “Aimeric, I think, would have wanted that.”

“Mothers know their sons,” Loyse said. She withdrew her hands from Laurent's and raised one, slowly, to his face. Damen held his breath. He knew what happened when people touched Laurent without permission. But Laurent raised his chin when she bid him and then, when Loyse placed the palm of her slightly-wrinkled hand against Laurent's, Damen saw him drop his eyelids, let out a breath through his nose, and melt just a little to the touch.

Damen's insides gave a funny turn. Some unspoken part of him protested. He did not like it when other people touched Laurent. Maybe he wanted to be the only one to give him comfort. But the ache of feeling came from a more sadly benevolent place. Laurent had been alone for so long. No-one had seen past his icy exterior. Damen had been beloved by his people, sweated and laughed with his friends, cheerfully bedded anyone who caught his eye, while Laurent was deprived of the most basic human decency. Damen had never had a mother but he had many other things. Laurent had nothing and no-one. Such simple tenderness was missing from his life.

“I am sorry, too,” Loyse said, quietly, and Laurent pulled himself away.

“The second matter,” he said, abruptly. “Is more pleasant. You may retain Fortaine under a life lease. If any of your remaining sons can keep it in shape, they are welcome to stay with you.”

Damen thought that if any of Guion's other sons had been capable of that, Laurent would not have taken it so easily.

“You are too kind, my king,” Loyse said. “And I will not need assistance from my sons.”

Laurent rose. “We are in agreement then. I doubt we'll speak again before you depart. Safe travels.”

“Thank you,” Damen blurted. Her face said what for. “Your candour and bravery at the trial will not go forgotten in Ios.”

“Yes, well. Perhaps if you had not ignored me on the road it wouldn't have come as such a surprise,” Loyse said. “Your highness.”

Damen had been home too long. He'd forgotten how bitchy Veretians could be.

Including Laurent, who, once the door was closed, snickered at Damen's expression and swept back down the hall. He bypassed Damen's old bedroom, thankfully, and entered a storage room tucked away in the corner of the hall. Damen used to keep stuff there that had he had no use for – old armour, mostly. He didn't see the need for a lot of belongings. Laurent had put the space to the same purpose. Since his ascension, people were positively tripping over themselves to send gifts and tokens. The space was overflowing with silks and casks and trunks full of treasures. Damen could smell the scent of floral perfume as Laurent glanced around, and decided a sturdy wooden trunk was the best place on which to throw his body onto.

“So,” Damen said. “Were you expecting more of a fight from Loyse?”

“Physical strength,” Laurent replied. “Was not the variety I required.”

“I know.” Damen wasn't sure the trunk nearest to Laurent would hold his weight and he didn't want to sit further away, so he leaned against a bolt of silk that felt nicely soft against his arm. “That was kind of you,” he said.

“Kind,” Laurent repeated, sounding anything but. “You've been home too long if you think that was anything but a bargain. Damen, I am not _kind_.”

“What would you need to --” Damen trailed off.

“Yes. That.” Laurent said. “I will spent a lot of time undoing the rumours my uncle spread. The fact that I'm getting fucked by my brother's killer will not help. There are things the people can never know about me.”

“Things,” Damen said. To his own ears, he sounded horrified.

“It's fine. We don't have to talk about it.”

“Will you ever let me apologise?”

“No,” said Laurent. “Not for that. Just, please, remember that I am not kind.”

“Yes, you are,” said Damen.

“You see me wrongly,” Laurent insisted. “You thought I was kind to the slaves but it was to get one over on Nicaise and get Torveld on my side. I flayed you alive. I tormented Aimeric. I'm not kind. I'm sick.”

“I'm not kind,” Damen said. "Either."

“Are you having trouble with Veretian now?”

“I'm not kind. If I was kind, I would have questioned my father more. I would have noticed Kastor's unhappiness. I would have maybe known that Jokaste was lying,” Damen said. “I would have seen....Fuck, it must have killed you when I believed him in Arles.”

“Not really,” Laurent said. “I still hated you then. I thought you were dumb as a dead ox. Also, I was used to people falling for his lies.”

“I should have seen. Like Loyse said...”

“Damen.” Laurent's voice took on that rare breathlessness that always made Damen stop. “You are kind. I know this because going along with what I wanted, no, needed, you to believe was the kindest thing you could have done for me.” His eyes flickered away, briefly, before holding Damen's gaze again. “I saw you skirt the edges of belief. I saw you push me and pull back again. You gave me choices. That was kind.”

Damen left his bolt of silk and leaned over Laurent. Lately, he was conscious not to tower. Laurent's breath hitched. Damen debated leaning further down or grabbing Laurent's collar to pull him closer.

“Don't,” said Laurent.

Damen straightened. “Why?”

“You're looking at me like you don't believe what I said.”

“Only the first part,” Damen replied. “Where you put yourself down.”

“You misunderstand me. I relish my lack of kindness. It's a winning trait.”

“It can be both,” Damen said. “You're the king of duplicity. I don't need to spell it out.”

“Actually, I'm the King of Vere and Acquitart.”

“Not until your coronation, Laurent. For now, I outrank you. Sweetheart.” Damen grinned. Laurent glowered. “It's simple, actually. I know what it is to be two things. You sent the slaves away and got your Patran cavalry. You sent Jokaste away --”

“Maybe I was just eliminating the competition.”

“She was no competition.”

“No, she wasn't,” Laurent agreed. “I just like to hear you say it.”

“I know what it is to be two things,” Damen said. “Slave and Prince, for example.”

“You were never really a slave.”

“I felt like it,” Damen said, quietly. “Sometimes I still do.”

“I am not,” Laurent said after a long silence. “The person you want me to be.”

“I want you only to be yourself.”

“Cruel and cold and sick.”

“You are not sick,” Damen said.

“Aren't I?” Laurent pushed off the trunk. He stood behind to put it between him and Damen. “I wasn't lying when I told Nikandros I liked it when I split your back open. I meant everything I said to Aimeric. My uncle wasn't lying when he said I asked him to stay.”

It took most of Damen's strength not to break the nearest priceless object. “You were, what, fourteen in the months after Marlas? Nicaise told me he had been at court since he was ten.”

Laurent ignored him. “Sometimes, I liked it. I craved it.”

“We fool ourselves.”

“Even in the years after, I woke thinking about it,” Laurent continued. Damen had seen him on tirades like this before. He'd let it play out until he couldn't any more. “You think I was repressed because of trauma. You're wrong. I packed all that away because I couldn't stand my own self. When you shared my tent on the road, the worst thoughts would come to mind. I thought about it long before you kissed me on the battlements. I thought about someone holding me down and fucking me awake.”

“Someone?”

“You. My Akielon slave.”

“Ah, I was thinking it must have been me,” Damen said. “Because no-one else would get near you and you knew I don't rape.”

Laurent blinked. “Not even if I ordered it?”

“People like what they like,” Damen said, conversationally. “Don't think too hard about it. I, for example, liked being your slave. I liked the cuffs. Both you and my back remember I liked the bathing. I was so jealous of Isander I could have choked. I still don't like anyone else touching your armour.”

“That's --”

“I still obey and you know it,” Damen said. “I also, for the record, like blonds who get me into trouble and going to my knees to suck your cock dry, although it's not a very princely thing to do, and candle wax. We haven't tried that together yet. You'll like it, too.”

“Everything's simple for you.”

“Not everything. Not you,” Damen said. “Laurent, please come out from behind that trunk.”

“Make me.”

Easily, Damen stepped over it and closed the space between them. Laurent stepped back. Damen followed. Laurent stepped again and knocked over a pile of something Damen didn't bother to look at because he preferred to look at Laurent's bright blue eyes.

Damen normally grabbed Laurent's sides, his waist, sometimes his hips. So, today, he grabbed his wrists instead and held both easily in one his hands. He pressed them to Laurent's chest and leaned in. Laurent's eyes fluttered and Damen knew he was awaiting one of the soft, kind kisses Damen tended to press against his mouth or the sweet spot just below his ears.

So Damen moved lightning quick and took Laurent's bottom lip between his teeth. He only tugged a little before he kissed him with his mouth open and his tongue exploring and the full weight of his body pressing Laurent against the wall.

Laurent gasped. Damen knew he had chipped away some of that frosty control when Laurent, quite wantonly, pushed himself back against the firm muscles of Damen's upper thigh.

“More,” Laurent demanded. So Damen dropped to his knees and put his unlacing skills to use.

“Handy that you knocked a cushion in your scrambling,” Damen said, while he took Laurent's erection out of the confines of his Veretian clothing.

“I don't scramble,” Laurent snapped. “I --”

He stopped when Damen took the length of him in his mouth. No-one had to teach Damen how to do that. He used his mouth and his tongue make Laurent whimper, which was the equivalent of ear-splitting cries of passion in anyone else. Then, he kissed the tip as sweetly as he would kiss Laurent goodnight and Laurent bit his own lip. His hips flexed, automatically. Damen's were flexing, too, but he was too far away from friction to feel any kind of relief.

Briefly, Damen replaced Laurent's cock in his mouth with his own fingers so he could wet them and so he could reach between firm curved muscle and tease Laurent's opening.

“Come on,” Damen said. He took Laurent's hands from the wall and placed them on top his head. Fingers gently curled in his damp hair. He went down on Laurent again and the grip got tighter. For only a second, when he pushed his mouth so far he felt the tickle of golden hair against the very tip of his nose. Laurent's fingers splayed wide and he held Damen's head in place. His hips flexed again.

“See?” Damen came up for air. “I like that.”

“How are you so...”

“Perfect? Attractive? Deeply attuned to my partner's wants and needs.” Damen ran his hands up Laurent's torso as he climbed up from his knees.

“Unaffected.”

“I'm not.” Damen pressed himself against Laurent. Akeilon clothes were light, and spacious, but they left no room for doubt about matters of lust. “Believe me.”

“I do.” Laurent squeezed him through the soft cotton. “But you better show me anyway.” He kissed Damen on the mouth, and Damen had no shyness about doing so while he still tasted of Laurent's cock. He pushed Laurent's trousers down until they caught on the tight leather of his boots. “No, leave them,” Laurent said. “I don't want to wait.”

Eyes dark, Laurent glanced around frantically and then simply turned and faced the wall. It had potential. Damen knew Laurent liked touching solid cold surfaces when everything else burnt away.

Damen did mean to guide him elsewhere but he found himself standing behind and blindly thrusting against the inviting cleft of Laurent's pretty pale ass.

“You might be able to come like a schoolboy but I require --”

Damen covered Laurent's mouth with his palm. “Did any of your many admirers gift you oil?” He said, right in his ear, as Laurent pushed himself back against him.

“Pocket.” Laurent panted against Damen's palm. Veretian clothes did have some advantages over Akielon garments, then. Damen fumbled until he found a small pot of oil among the folds of Laurent's crumpled coat. He slicked his hand, his cock and Laurent's entrance.

Then he took hold of him and pushed him face down onto the trunk.

“Too much?” Damen asked. He fell to his knees behind Laurent and bent his whole body over him in a mirror image. He couldn't help pressing a series of kisses along the nape of Laurent's neck.

“Just fuck me,” Laurent said.

Damen pulled back. “That's not an answer.” Feigning idleness, ignoring the needful throb of his cock, he ran his index finger down the length of Laurent's spine. His skin was so much darker than Laurent's smooth white back. He was rougher all over.

Laurent's limbs were long enough that he could hold himself up over the trunk. It was there for effect. Support. What would Laurent say?

Verisimilitude.

Laurent's cheek, the one Loyse had laid her hand on, was pressed against the polished wood. He put it there himself. Then, deliberately, with his eyes locked on Damen, he put both his hands behind his back. His twin cuff gleamed through the gaps in his laced sleeve. Damen held Laurent's slender wrists tight against the base of his spine and pushed all the way inside of him.

There was a moment, as there always was, where nothing existed but this. Not the moment of entry. That happened in a thousand different ways before they ever made contact. The moment when Damen was inside completely and Damen was overwhelmed completely by the fact that Laurent had let him and wanted him and there was no more complete way for them to be joined.

The moment, as always, was interrupted by Laurent impatiently urging Damen to move, to thrust, to fuck. Damen complied, mind full of his own pleasure and also of the fact that this had to be quick, it had to be inelegant and ....

Rough.

Damen nearly came there and then. He held Laurent's wrists tight enough to possibly bruise his fine white skin and drove himself into Laurent, his Laurent, again and again. The trunk shifted. The wood creaked. The room was filled with the sounds of flesh and fucking and, most gratifyingly, Laurent's laboured breathing.

The breathing turned to panting, to groaning, and Damen heard himself grunt the harder he pushed himself. Laurent's wrists may have felt fragile in his hands but the rest of him was lean muscle that contracted under his skin as Damen strained his arms. How had Damen ever thought him weak?

Laurent never flinched from anything. He matched Damen, thrust for thrust. Distantly, Damen was aware of shadows on the wall and what this would look like – as if Laurent was taking when in fact he was drawing Damen in, consuming him with a well-placed clench and the way his hair fell around his face.

Damen felt the beginnings of his climax when he had to stop admiring Laurent because his body was overwhelmed with need, with the impending end to the chase, when words fell from his mouth unchecked, and he spilled inside Laurent.

His legs were weaker than they would ever be from horses or battles. Damen fell forward and nuzzled his sweat-damp face against Laurent's skin.

“That's all very lovely,” Laurent said, thickly. “But I have been neglected.”

“Nothing you didn't want,” Damen choked out. He hoped. He had been selfishly consumed in his pursuit that he hadn't even reached around to pleasure Laurent. There was the sound of skin stuck to wood when Laurent turned over. Damen was still kneeling, so Laurent kneeled too, with his lovely cock red with need, and leaking.

Damen felt better. Laurent had clearly enjoyed himself.

“Sit,” Damen said. Gingerly, Laurent perched on trunk and Damen shouldered his legs open. He let out a slow breath, right onto Laurent's hardness, and then sucked him into his mouth. This time, Laurent didn't hesitate to grab his hair. He pulled. He guided. Unsurprisingly, he was good at that.  
Laurent was good at everything. Even coming, which he did, with no more warning than a gasp, right into the back of Damen's throat.

Laurent looked down, eyes wide and vulnerable. Damen looked up, feeling like he was testing uncharted waters. Laurent had never come like that before. Damen had never had come in his mouth, except maybe the taste of his own as a curious boy or the lingerings of a previous dalliance. Damen let it sit there. It wasn't unpleasant because it was Laurent. Just slightly, he opened his swollen lips and let Laurent see the white before he swallowed it down.

Laurent flopped back against the trunk. “You're going to be insufferable now.”

Damen laughed and pulled Laurent down to the floor, or more accurately on top of him. He would cradle him, if Laurent would let him. He had questions like _are you all right_ and _are your wrists sore_ and _since when do you carry around pots of oil_ but he let them fade away like stars before sunrise.

“You loved it,” Damen said, teasing. 

“Yes,” Laurent said. “Yes. You are very kind.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Un-beta'd so please excuse any mistakes. This is my first fic in this fandom, also I'm not used to AO3, so please let me know if there are any issues with tags, content etc


End file.
